


seriously delirious (and deliriously serious)

by remy_the_lemon_berry



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Self-Harm, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Crying, Depressed Logic | Logan Sanders, HEED THE WARNINGS YA’LL!!!, Heavy Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, Sad Ending, Sad Logic | Logan Sanders, Screaming, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhappy Ending, Vomiting, i regret nothing :), i swear i love logan i just like sucker punching the angst onto him, kinda? you’ll see, logan ain’t having a good time guys, oof, self-deprecation, the other sides aren’t really unsympathetic- they’re just jerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy_the_lemon_berry/pseuds/remy_the_lemon_berry
Summary: Obsolete. (adj.) “no longer produced or used; out of date.”A self-reflection of Logan’s role as a Side, and a depressing realization of his usefulness to Thomas.Songfic of the song “Nightmare” by Zach Callison
Comments: 34
Kudos: 124





	seriously delirious (and deliriously serious)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrainlessGenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrainlessGenius/gifts).



> Warnings for this fic: lots and lots of self-deprecation, depression, crying, screaming, vomiting, accidental self-harm (hair pulling), suicidal thoughts (not acted on), death

_He hasn’t been himself for quite a while_

_He won’t crack a smile_

Logan reminisced back when Thomas first started making the videos. Back then, times were so much simpler. Happier. Back then, he was purely known as Logic, with one duty and one function only- to provide the logic and reasoning in Thomas’s everyday life. When he rewatched the videos now, it all seemed so… childish back then. And yet, in those small, simple times, Logan bore so _much_ of himself. He watched himself beam, say every word with a joyful grin on his face, that odd glint of childlike curiosity and wonder still prevalent, even though his role of Curiosity had long since been discarded.

And now, _now,_ it seemed impossible to ever feel the same joy that he felt back then.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had genuinely smiled. After all, everyone always silenced him, and how could you feel happy if you’re being controlled like a marionette? The harsh demands of his ~~friends~~ coworkers swirled through his brain, filling every nerve and cell with disappointment and loneliness and despair and just pure _agony_.

_“Logan, can you stop?”_

_“Oh shut it, nerdy wolverine.”_

_“Oh hush, sub-astute teacher.”_

_“I’m afraid this is a benched trial for you_.”

_“ I... kind of hate you a little bit right now and... Shut your dirty mouth.”_

And he knew- it was him, right? They were ignoring him because _he_ was the one causing the troubles. All Logan wanted to do was help Thomas. That’s what he’s here for, right? For Thomas? Then why did it _hurt_ so much? All he did was provide facts. Wait- was _that_ why they ignored him? Why they never listened? Is it because he’s too boring? Too monotonous? It’s all his fault. All his.

Logan didn’t even notice the warm, stinging liquid behind his eyes, threatening to be released.

_Prosecutor in his own trial_

_As the floor below him becomes so fertile_

_By his very own vile Nile in exile source_

_But the pitter-patter of his tears_

_On the bathroom tile_

Hiccuping sobs erupted from the logical Side’s mouth, stifled only by the hand that quickly slapped over his mouth. He couldn’t help it- the agony that washed over his soul had ached to be released. Nausea swirled in his stomach and rose to his throat. Logan managed to reach the bathroom just in time as vomit spewed into the toilet. He collapsed onto the ground, his sobs causing so much pain, which only caused him to cry more. So the cycle continued.

Exhaustion washed over him like a blanket worn too thin. He managed to stagger to his feet. He had barely collapsed onto his bed when his eyes closed. He hadn’t bothered to take off his formal attire. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

_All his friends are dead_

_Heh, hold your dread_

_Not in the literal sense_

The next few days were monotonous, as usual. He holed up in his room, only leaving to eat and then retreating once again. One particular morning, he sank into the kitchen to find everyone else already there. Patton and Roman had worked together to cook breakfast for the group. When Logan approached the table, he noticed that Janus was sitting in his typical seat.

(Logan insisted to himself that this was no dilemma to be concerned over since the seats at a table inherently meant nothing.)

When Remus noticed Logan, he beamed and summoned a chair. “Glad you could join us, Specs!”

_He’s just saying that._

Patton served breakfast, and the group chatted and laughed about the day to come. No one asked for his opinion. No one spoke to him directly. When Logan attempted to contribute a point, the others brushed him off with a half-hearted, dismissive wave.

“Yeah, sure, that’s great, Logan,” they all said, and they continued with their conversation.

Logan didn’t attempt to speak after that.

_He's just incensed_

_By his own dense_

_Defense of the friends_

_That pretend to care at his expense_

_Until he's dispensed_

_But that's just his two cents_

_In case you were on the fence_

Looking at the evidence both from past videos and even in their normal lives, it was clear that the others never really cared about him. Never really glanced at him. Never _listened_ to him. And yet, _yet_ , for some unknown, nonsensical reason, Logan continued to hope. He continued to hold on to that tiny sliver of a chance that they truly cared about him. He didn’t know why he did it- all evidence pointed against it. Against him. 

_He’s too pathetic to accept the truth._

Now, he gave up. He’s so tired. So, so tired. All Logan wanted to do now was sleep. To finally have a release from where he is. But he couldn't do that to Thomas. He still needed Logan, right? Heh. At least that made one of them.

And so, he made himself into a tool. That’s for the best, right? Isn’t that what Thomas needed? Someone to use until he could be thrown away and replaced? Yes.

But apparently, tools couldn’t have hobbies. And so, they all berated and insulted what he loved- or- used to love.

_“You’re supposed to be emotionless. A robot. Why do you love Crofters? Why do you insist on ranting about space? No one really cares, Logan.”_

_No one cares._

He sat at his desk and opened a drawer. Glancing at the door, he made sure no one walked in before lifting the false bottom and pulling out a small, black, leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen. His one last bit of comfort. His one escape.

_You’re not doing your job._

_All option exhausted_

_So he writes poetry like Nas did_

He wrote. He wrote and wrote and wrote until his hands were stained with black ink and his fingers cramped up. He jotted down his thoughts, his (ugh) feelings, his desires, his wishes. He noted the future he had always wanted for Thomas- a life full of science and success and fulfillment. A life that Patton and Roman dismissed to follow a fantastical daydream. As expected, remembering that situation brought helpless tears to his eyes.

His right index finger flicked out of existence briefly before appearing again.

_Just face it you lost kid_

_Just close the garage door_

_And let your face get exhausted_

_Like your playing in boss_

_You're nothing than your feelings_

_From your floor to your ceilings_

_And out through your bloodshot ocular faucets_

He really _was_ hopeless, wasn’t he? Just hopeless and boring and stuck-up and annoying and unnecessary. God, he shouldn’t even _be_ here right now. He’s so tired of playing pretend, saying that he was satisfactory, a puppet on strings for the others to listen to and ignore as they saw fit. A puppet for them to control, for him to provide exposition until they dismissed him. And every time, when he sank out to his room, he collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

He was so tired.

His tears soaked the page and smeared the ink, but Logan couldn’t care less. They ruined everything else for him- what’s one more thing to add to the list? After all, he’s just a shell, right? Logan tangles his hands in his hair, yanking until strands fall out of his scalp. His cries turned to screams as he yelled for his past self. For his lost passions. For the strings tied around his wrists. For the lost career. For Thomas.

Through his blurry vision, he noticed his right hand flicker in and out of existence.

He stood up, pushing his chair back. He didn’t stand for long before his legs gave out from underneath him, sending him tumbling to the ground. His head hit the edge of his desk, but he barely noticed. He’s too exhausted to do anything except curl up underneath the table, his back against one of the file cabinets. And it’s there that he stayed until he finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

_Boy versus brain_

_White noise versus the sane_

_Always versus the same_

_Cries for help exclaim_

When Logan woke up, a jolt of muscle pain shot down his back and shoulders. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when the pain in his heart and mind spoke louder. 

_Faulty_

_Broken_

_Boring_

_Robot_

_Cold_

_Expendable_

_Useless_

_That he’s beyond repair_

_He’ll swear_

_Hel’ll despair_

_He’ll stare_

_Straight ahead in the mirror_

_At the source of his waking nightmare_

At long last, his muscles protested enough for him to finally crawl out from underneath his desk. He glanced around his room. The normally pristine space was now in complete and utter disarray. Dust and cobwebs covered the mess on the floor, as though Logan hadn’t bothered cleaning any of it up- which he hadn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

The only clean object in his room was the tall mirror that hung on his closet door. It was the mirror he looked into every day. And though it only showed his face, he still couldn’t help but feel disgusted by his reflection. He had become everything he had strived to avoid. And now, it came back to bite him.

_Broken_

_Useless_

_Expendable_

_Faulty_

_He's standing on a bluff_

_Overlooking the city_

_The city's biggest bluff_

_Is making itself look so pretty_

But Thomas was summoning him. He could at least make himself look presentable. He quickly adjusted his glasses and straightened his tie. Brushing the dust and wrinkles out of his clothes, he straightened his shoulders and sunk out. He didn’t notice his right arm flickering.

Logan appeared in his usual spot, with Janus standing next to him. Huh. Refusing to let his irritation show, he addressed the others. “Greetings, Thomas. Why have you summoned me?”

“Hey, Logan!” Thomas said enthusiastically. “We were just having a debate with everyone else, and you need to be the tie-breaker!”

A shard of ice pierced his chest. Somehow, he was still caught off-guard when Thomas essentially said, “we don’t actually need you.” Curse Logan and his too-trusting brain.

_He tells himself to be tough_

_Isolated and gritty_

_But gritty's kinda hard_

_When his brain's run by committee_

He scowled. “I see. Please inform me on the dilemma.”

Roman piped up next. “Well, Thomas wants to ask this one dude out. But Snakeface McGee over here said that Thomas ‘needs to put himself first for the moment.’ Which is absolute bullshit, by the way. But Virge agrees with him because he doesn’t want to see Thomas rejected. And Pat agrees with me because he wants Thomas to be happy. But we didn’t summon you because you aren’t good with emotions and love and all that-”

Virgil coughed in his hand, the noise sounding suspiciously like “robot”.

“-but the four of us couldn’t decide on a solution, so we summoned you as a tie-breaker.”

Logan noticed the flickering of his arm and quickly hid it behind his back. “I see. What does Thomas want? Shouldn’t _he_ have the final say?”

“Ah, yes. Thomas, what do _you_ want to do?”

The man glanced around the room. “I-I don’t want to ask him out yet. I want to make sure he feels the same for me. Plus, I want some time for myself, right now.” He looks at Roman. “I hope that’s okay.”

The prince beamed. “Whatever you say is perfect, Thomas.”

He nodded and stared at Logan. “You can go now, Logan.”

He flinched at the sudden dismissal, but there was no reason for him to linger. The others obviously didn’t care for his opinion on, well, anything, so he sunk out. But right before he did, his whole body flickered.

No one noticed.

_But no surprise the nightmares only get worse_

_When he takes the pills_

_For the first time_

_Poison is some kind_

_Kill the noise in his own mind_

The flickering worsened. He’d blankly watch an entire leg fade out for several seconds before seeing it appear again. And finally, _finally_ , he mustered the will and energy to walk towards his library. Maybe a book would inform him of what’s going on.

It was slow-going, mainly since his leg insisted on flickering out occasionally, causing him to stumble. But he managed to enter his library without too much trouble. Scouring the hundreds of shelves was a task of its own, since Logan himself wasn’t completely sure what to search for. _Sides flickering? What to do if your limbs start to disappear? How-to-be-a-Side-101?_ He gave a humorless chuckle at the last thought. He really was starting to lose it.

But Logan managed to find a somewhat boring book labeled _The Sides and Their Functions._ And because nothing else caught his eye, he scoured the contents, just to humor himselfAnd curiously, he found a chapter called _Obsolete Sides_.

He begins reading aloud to himself.

“When a Side is no longer used, listened to, or regarded as important, the Side is rendered “obsolete” and begins to Fade. When Fading, the Side will flicker in and out of existence until disappearing completely.”

_He's seriously delirious and deliriously serious_

_Oh my dear sister Christie_

_I think his end might be nearin' us_

There was more writing in that chapter, but Logan slammed the book shut anyway. And despite his situation, he couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh at how hard he’d been trying. Laugh at how completely and utterly _ignorant_ he’d been. How _stupid_ and _useless_ and _annoying_ he’d been to the point where _Thomas himself no longer found him even_ remotely _useful._ How depressing was that?

And even now, he felt more of his strength waning. He knew he wasn’t going to ~~live~~ stay much longer. He was flickering more and more, staying gone for longer stretches of time.

But he still wanted to see his room. One last time.

Logan staggered to his feet, clutching onto the bookshelf for balance as one of his feet faded out of existence. He hobbled through the maze of books. His foot never reappeared.

_Nothing can fix the fear in us_

He was so close. _So close_. He could see the door to his room right here. But right then, Logan’s legs completely disappeared. He collapsed to the ground, jarring his elbow. His left hand flickered. Fuck.

If anyone could see him right now, he would look quite pathetic, crawling with just one hand pulling him forward. And he would look even more wretched now that sobs wracked his body and tears blurred his vision. But through his fading vision, he saw his right hand fade away.

“No…” Logan choked. “No no no no no. Please no.” And then reality set in.

_Useless. Broken. Unwanted. Ignored._

_Dying._

He screamed. A broken, helpless scream. It was the kind of yell that haunted nightmares, that caused blood to curdle up into the throat because of how loud and grating it was. And the sobs never ceased. They only increased, clogging his nose and blocking his airways. 

God, he couldn’t even make it to his room. How sad. No wonder he was fading. But distantly, blearly, he believed that somehow, _somehow_ , the others would remember and need him.

“Falsehood,” Logan rasped. His phrase. The phrase everyone stole from him. The phrase that had once defined him but now mocked him. The phrase that defined the rest of his pitiful existence. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. His eyelids felt like lead weights. And briefly, he noticed his door disappear as his eyes closed for the final time. He breathed, and all went silent.

_So who do I speak of_

_And why is he gray_

_He rejects all his love_

_See the prices he pays_

_To his vices he caves_

_In a crisis of fates_

Virgil stood in the mindscape, gazing out at the hallway of doors. There were four doors leading to separate rooms. His own door stood nearest to the left, with Janus’s door the farthest on the left. Roman and Remus shared a space, surprisingly, in the room closest to the right. Patton’s room was right next to theirs. A beautiful collage of purple, light blue, yellow, and silver.

Everything was perfect. He couldn’t imagine not having any of them in his life, no matter how much he argued with them. It’s always been the five of them, and they worked in perfect harmony. Yes, they bickered, but they always got the job done, and Thomas was always satisfied. That was the most important thing. He couldn’t imagine anyone else being here or replacing them. The idea was, frankly, absurd.

From downstairs, Virgil heard Patton yell up to him. “Hey, kiddo! We’re having a movie night with the five of us plus Thomas! Care to join us?”

The anxious Side allowed a smile to slip onto his face. “I’m coming, Dad!” he called. And he bounded down the stairs to his perfect family of six. Morality, Creativity, Dark Creativity, Anxiety, Deceit, and Thomas.

_No tragic history_

_Only a mystery_

_So I say to you_

_Who?_

  
  
  
  
  


_Why don't you tell me?_

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on Tumblr
> 
> Main blog: @remy-the-lemon-berry
> 
> Side blog: @remy-berry-writes


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